


Final Hour

by UndeservingHero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeservingHero/pseuds/UndeservingHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas have been pen pals for years but have never met. </p>
<p>Dean gets a unique opportunity to have Cas come meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Hour

**Author's Note:**

> This is the baby of a dream I had months ago. Enjoy.

_Cas,_

_Hey man. Sorry it took me so long to write back this time. School got crazy but you'll never guess what happened._

_The team got into the fucking playoffs, man. We're going to the playoffs! Can you believe it?_

_I mean... you might have seen it on the news or Sports Center or something, but I wanted to tell you myself. The game is in two weeks. I'll probably get your letter back by then. There are two tickets in here for you and your brother if you want to go. Uncle Bobby can't come and Sammy has too much studying to do at Stanford to leave right now. But ya know... It'd be nice to finally meet you._

_I'll be wearing number 67 in green so keep an eye out for me, okay? Even if you can't make it, watch?_

_Dean_

 

He read over it again. It was one of the shorter ones they'd sent over the years, but he'd get to say all he wanted to in two weeks if Cas could make it to the game. He folded it and slid the tickets into the paper before putting it all in the envelope and writing the address he’d been using for years now.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know Cas’s last name. They’d just been writing to each other as their pen names on the website at first, then first names.

He looked at it and thought about the eight years they’d spent writing letters to one another. Weird how close you could get to someone just through pen and ink. He looked over at the picture that was sitting on his desk in a little oak frame of a kid with vibrant blue eyes and messy black hair. He couldn’t even tell you what he looked like other than that. There was cake and icing smeared all over the other half of his face with a hand shoving more at him while he laughed.

Cas had said it was a picture from his twenty-first birthday and that the person shoving cake at him was his brother Gabriel. It had the date written on it in the same careful script as the letters on the back.

Dean had only thought it fair and had sent him a picture of himself and Sam sitting on the back of the Impala that Bobby had taken of them one summer afternoon while Sam was home from school. He’d put as close a date on the back as he could remember since it had just been another Saturday afternoon for them.

He picked up the frame though and looked at Cas’s eyes as his laughter was frozen, kept away from the hard hands of time. He was ready to meet the person that laughed like that.

He put the frame down and sealed the envelope before sticking a stamp on it and taking a deep breath before he bolted down the stairs out to the mailbox and flipped up the little flag to let the mail lady know there was an outgoing letter. He knew she hadn’t been by yet since he’d been watching out his window.

Sullen at the thought of waiting two more weeks for a reply, he trudged back up to the house and flopped down on his bed. He should be going over game books or films or working on his homework, but he had a ritual going.

He moped every time he sent a letter off to Cas for at least two hours, sometimes more. He had no idea how many times he’d almost sent a letter that asked for the other man’s number. He guessed he was afraid that maybe if Cas could talk to him more often, then maybe he wouldn’t like him so much.

He pulled a pillow close and muscled it into a comfortable shape as he kicked off his shoes and curled up around it.

Bobby came home a while later and wondered where Dean was since the Impala was in the drive. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the boy’s door. “You here?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said through the door, muffled and miserable.

Bobby arched a brow and pushed the door open. This was a biweekly thing to see Dean mopey like this so he wasn’t surprised to see him hiding in his bed. “Still didn’t ask him?”

Dean just glared at him over the top of the blanket. “I sent him the tickets.”

That surprised Bobby. He’d expected the kid to back out. “Well that’s something. Think he’ll go?”

Dean shrugged, the movement barely visible because of the comforter. “I dunno.”

"Well, all you can do now is wait," he said. "You hungry?"

Dean nodded.

"Alright. I'll be back in a while. I would say don’t wander too far, but I think you got that covered.”

He waited for a moment and got the bird in reply as he laughed. He closed the door behind him and went downstairs. As he walked, the expression dropped and he worried about Dean.

He’d been writing that boy for years and Bobby’d offered multiple times to send him to see him for the summer, but Dean had told him he didn’t want to bother Cas on his vacation. Apparently, the boy had enough siblings to contend with anyway.

He started making dinner and called Sam on his cell to see how he was doing while he boiled some pasta.

***

Castiel pulled open the door when he saw the mailman come up the walkway to the house and smiled at him as he took the stack of envelopes from him. “Thank you.”

The mailman just gave him a smile and a small wave as he turned back toward the street and kept walking.

Cas separated the stack between himself and his siblings. His, he took upstairs to open behind a locked door since he’d seen very familiar, distinct handwriting on the front of one of the envelopes.

He carefully opened it with his letter opener and pulled the creased paper out. When he unfolded it, something fell out and slid down his leg to rest on his shoe. He reached down to grab it as he read the letter, a note really.

A slow smile came over his face.

Irony.

That was the word that came to mind. Divine irony.

He looked at the tickets and set them down in front of his computer, pulling out the same stationary he always used to return Dean’s good tidings but paused with the nib of his pen a mere inch away from the paper.

Mischief worked its way onto his features and he set the pen to the page.

After, he ran down the stairs and saw Gabriel. He slapped the tickets to his brother’s chest as he went for the door. “You’re going to Atlanta with me!” he called over his shoulder.

Gabriel watched Cas run out the door with a letter in hand and then looked down at the tickets in his hand. His own grin split his face. “‘Bout time.”

 

_Dean,_

_I don’t mind that your letter took a while. I was busy too with school._

_Fortunately, I will be able to make it to Atlanta that weekend._

_I look forward to meeting you. And good luck, Dean. I will meet you on the field after the game._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

 

Dean stared at that last pair of sentences.

Holy shit.

It was really going to happen. In like two days.

“Dean, you alright? You’ve been sittin’ like that for ten minutes.”

He shook himself and looked up at Bobby. “He said yes. He’s coming.” His voice was quiet, like if he said it too loud, it might shatter.

Bobby’s eyebrow went up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah...” He handed him the letter to see for himself.

“Kid’s got some calligraphy handwritin’.”

Dean nodded. “It’s always like that.” He traced the careful sweeps of Cas’s letter again, still trying to process.

***

“Wake up, kid. Gotta go. Plane leaves in a couple of hours.”

Dean blinked blearily at Bobby’s silhouette in his doorway and waved a hand. “‘M comin’.”

“Don’t take too long. Gotta get you fed and to the airport.” With that, he left him to go finish breakfast.

Dean grunted and his head hit his pillow again for a moment before he got up and dressed, grabbing his duffel and backpack before he left.

Bobby was true to his word. Food and then car.

At the airport, he hugged Dean hard. “You call me when you land. I know you don’t like flyin’.”

Dean nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Bobby was quiet for a second. “Go kick some ass, boy. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Dean nodded again and squeezed him. “Wish you and Sam were coming with me.”

“We’ll be watching. You just take care of yourself, Dean. Alright? Call home if you need somethin’.”

“I will. Promise.”

Bobby let him go and squeezed his shoulders, smiling at him. “I wish I had some speech to give you, but all I got is good luck.”

“Guess that’s just gonna have to do, Uncle Bobby. You take care. I’ll be back. It’s not forever.”

Bobby smiled. “Yeah, I know that.”

As Dean boarded the plane, he thought, But I have a feeling you won’t be the same when you come back.

***

“Heya, Sammy. How’s it goin’?”

Sam grinned at him through his laptop screen. “It’s been great. You know, other than the massive load of homework. But I met this girl...”

Dean relaxed as he listened to Sammy talk about Jessica and how she was eight shades of wonderful. It was better than a Valium.

“So how are you? Nervous?”

Dean shrugged. “Me? Nervous? Nah. But...” He paused. “Cas is coming.”

Sam stared at him. “He’s... wait... you asked him?”

“Sent him the tickets and everything,” he mumbled, fiddling with his notebook.

“Holy shit.” Sam’s eyes were big.

“That’s what I said,” Dean said as he looked back up. “I dunno what to do, Sammy. What do I say to him when I meet him?”

“Uh... ‘Hi, I’m Dean Winchester. I’m pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you.’ Or something like that,” Sam said as he grinned at him.

“You suck, Sammy,” Dean said, face red in embarrassment. Thankfully, his roommate was next door.

Sam laughed but he grew serious after a moment. “Come on, Dean. You’ve been talking to this guy for a really freakin’ long time. You can’t be that much different than you are in your letters. Either one of you. If he likes the you that writes to him every other week, then he’s going to like you you. And vice versa.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. Just... What... I think I’m more nervous about meeting Cas than I am about the game,” he admitted.

“Yeah. I get that. He seems like a nice guy though from the letters you let me read. I’m sure it’s going to be okay,” Sam assured.

Dean sighed. “Hope you’re right.”

“Well, I’m rarely wrong, so you have that going for you,” Sam said and Dean snorted.

He looked down at the paper again that had been shoved into his pocket since the moment he’d gotten it. It had good luck in it. Just like Sam’s necklace he always wore.

I was signed ‘Yours’.

That was the first time it had ever been ended that way. It was usually ‘Sincerely’ or something else as equally as stuffy.

Maybe he was reading too much into it.

He heard his roommate coming back in and put it back into his pocket as he turned his attention back to his brother. “So, I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow night?”

Sam nodded, having heard the roommate making noise too. “Sure. Good luck, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Need all I can get.”

***

God it was loud.

Nearly a hundred thousand people could make a hell of a lot of noise though.

He looked around at all of the fans, faces painted, half-naked men even though it was only forty degrees, people dressed like the mascots. It was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

Someone on the staff wrapped a cape around him to keep him warm and he thanked them over the din. He held it and his helmet in his hands as he went to go find the coach and make sure they had everything worked out.

When the time came, he handed the cape to someone else and pulled his helmet on, jogging out onto the field as he snapped it under his chin.

In the huddle, he called out the play and made sure everyone knew what they were doing before they lined up and he called for the snap.

Step.

Step.

Breathe.

Throw.

His muscles stretched as he exhaled and let it go. The ball left his hand in a beautiful arc and he held his breath as someone bumped into him but his eyes never left the ball until the wide receiver caught it and kept on running for another ten yards.

He pumped his fist into the air and the crowd erupted around them.

***

Three quarters later, he was exhausted and sore and dirty from getting pounded into the ground more than once when his line broke.

He could tell the other team wasn’t doing much better. They were slowing down too. Their quarterback had gotten hurt and he felt kind of bad, but it hadn’t been something that was on purpose. His ankle had rolled and he’d been unable to stand on it.

He had other things to worry about though. The score was only four points apart and there was only about five minutes left on the clock.

In the back of his mind, he thought of Cas and how much he wanted to finally meet him. He wanted the other to be proud of him when they finally met. So far, they were winning, but all it took was one good pass from the other backup quarterback to that star wide receiver.

Novak had been kicking their asses all night. He was a damn fine player and he’d only missed two passes.

Dean just wished they were on the same team. They’d have blown the competition out of the water.

He ran out onto the field again and tried to figure out something that would work against the defense in a hurry as he saw a blitz headed his way. He called it out and set up again as his players shifted around him to prepare for it.

He called for the snap and rolled out to the left, looking for Lushane and saw him get tagged by a defender, sending him down. His eyes swept wide and he saw Briggs booking it downfield with no one on him. He stepped back and let it fly before the air exploded out of him as he got hit hard.

His heart pounded in his ears and he felt someone shove the guy off of him before a medic was in his face asking him something. He tried to focus on him and see what the hell he was talking about. Slowly the black edges on his vision receded and he got the sound of the crowd going through the roof again.

“Winchester? You alright, son? Can you hear me?”

Dean nodded.

“You hurt?”

Dean tried to figure out if he was or not and figured the pain in his ribs was just from the spearing he’d gotten. He shook his head.

“Alright, son. I think you’re done for tonight but we need to get you off of the field. Why don’t you sit up nice and slow for me.” The medic’s hand went to the back of his neck and cradled it as he and another medic helped him get upright.

His vision turned black around the edges again and he had to take some deep breaths before they could get him onto his feet.

The crowd’s noise redoubled as he walked off the field with his arm pulled over the medic’s shoulder. He held his ribs with the other as the medic lowered him to the bench and he watched on the jumbotron as his replacement went in. At least he’d gotten another forty yards with that throw. It was worth the beating he’d taken.

He watched from the sidelines as his boys ran the clock down and scored once more before giving it back to the other team.

He felt his heart jump up into his throat as he watched the clock wind down and then finally run out.

Elation.

Yeah, that was a good word for what he was feeling.

He moved with the team into the field and got the breath knocked out of him again by hands thumping his shoulders and he was damn near deaf.

He met the other team’s coach first, shaking his hand even though the man didn’t look all that happy to see him. He moved on to the back up quarterback and congratulated him on doing such a good job under so much pressure.

He saw number 77 from behind and clapped Novak on the shoulder, turning the dark-headed man around. “Hey, man good--” Words stuck in his throat as blue eyes looked back at him with the intensity of chained lightning. “Cas?”

White teeth flashed at him. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s whole world shrank to right there, just them. Every other thing fell away. “Holy shit. Cas. It is you.”

“I would hope so. I got all the way to the playoffs just to meet you,” he said, someone jostling him from behind.

“You... You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked, put out that he’d been the only one that hadn’t known.

“Your reaction mostly. But maybe because I was nervous about meeting you,” he said as he moved closer so they could hear each other.

“Nervous? ‘Bout meeting me? What for?” he asked as if he hadn’t been thinking the same thing.

Cas smiled. “I’m going to make a fool of myself on national television.”

Before Dean could ask him what he meant, Cas pulled him forward by the collar of his pads and kissed him. His heart thudded hard against his ribs but his hands got with the program, sinking into Cas’s hair and holding him there.

He knew cameras were on them. He knew they would be on Sports Center. He just didn’t care.

Eight years of waiting and dreaming and wishing. Right here in his grasp.

They pulled away and Cas’s cheeks were pink. “You’re better at that than I even imagined.”

Dean laughed, ears red at the attention. “So are you.”

The crowd was starting to figure out what was going on with them and reporters were converging on their position in the crowd.

Cas met his eyes. “After you get dressed, meet me on the next street over from the front of the stadium. There’s a bar there called Chevelle. It’ll be quieter there.”

Dean nodded and let him go, watching as he melted into the mob.

Reporters closed in on him and started asking him a hundred questions he didn’t want to answer so he turned away and made a slow progression to the locker room. He got cleaned up, feeling more nervous than he even thought possible. Worse than before he’d met Cas.

***

Cas sat in the bar alone. His team mates were all back in their hotel rooms, sulking and drinking away their sorrows about losing. He couldn’t really complain about the loss though.

In the end, he'd won anyway.

 


End file.
